gray or blue
by CherryFlavoredChalk
Summary: This will be the last time. Every time's the last time. SiriusJames, SiriusRemus, JamesLily.


_gray or blue_

(and i will love you in reality and dreams.)

You're standing there and watching everything because that's what you do. You stand and observe and sometimes you step in to make peace or buffer something; build someone up (like Peter) or hold someone back from tearing it all to pieces(Sirius) in the vain thought that for once, maybe it won't all go to hell.

It's the day after James and Lily's wedding. Lily is curled up in the burgundy armchair that reminds you of your grandfather's study, looking as small as she had when she was thirteen and tore the daffodils that James would send her with her fingers. Peter is dozing quietly by the fire, head bowed and tucked into himself. Sirius is stomping around in the kitchen, clacking wooden spoons and steel pots together recklessly. Every so often he swears a little louder than before and you have to bend your head back and remind him to be quiet, there are people sleeping in the next room.

He politely asks you to shut the fuck up and continues making a mess.

James comes in through the back door with a jug of cider balanced on his hip and rain making his hair lay flat (for once) over the circumference of his skull, red-cheeked and cheery. He walks towards the kitchen and stops in the doorway, puts the cider on the floor and says something in a soothing tone to Sirius.

Predictably, Sirius gets louder. There's a clacking sound and James's voice gets smaller and tighter like an animal coiling itself for an attack. There's a silence and James saying, "Please." like the worn-put adult that he isn't yet. Sirius doesn't say anything.

They come out of the kitchen and start towards the door. Sirius gives you that come here look and James is busy hunting down raincoats and boots for the journey back to Sirius's flat. He winds the blueberry-colored scarf that Lily bought him when they first started dating around Sirius's neck and says again, with less spring-wet pleading and more autumn-tiredness, "Please."

You step in to do your job and tell Sirius to go ahead outside. "He's just." you say, bored. You've been reciting this monologue since you'd all turned fifteen and every mannerism, every shrug you know you're supposed to give to the steady footsteps you're supposed to take out of their presence, just bores you to tears. "Just not feeling like himself."

For the umpteenth time, you leave James stranded in his own house with his mouth open and confused as hell. You walk to the driveway where Sirius is standing, soaked to the skin and eyes glinting. You let him curl a hand around your bicep and tug you towards him as he snorts and swears and sobs at you.

For the umpteenth time, you let him kiss you. You can only think of how heavy your pea coat is in the spring rain.

* * *

You're staying still and observing him, because even after seven years of private school education in advanced classes, you've only ever quite managed to sometimes understand Sirius Black. He's towering over you, his hands in your back, his hair hanging in front of his face. You can't remember if his eyes are gray or blue and don't think to look, it doesn't bother you much that you've never gotten close enough to say. You're looking at the ceiling and Sirius is breathing heavily and you're thinking about how even though everyone called it 'making love', you weren't doing much other than fucking.

Other rather, Sirius was fucking. You were watching him.

You're nineteen. Losing your virginity should mean more to you. But you're nineteen and tired and so bored with everyone and firmly convinced that this, like most things, will be something insignificant. You are being fucked by your best friend on a mattress with springs poking out of the bottom and your rain boots still on.

You wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask Sirius to shoot you in the head, right this instant.

"Please." Sirius says. And you let him curl into you, like you always do.

* * *

Because you haven't turned twenty and you're still allowed to basically be an uncouth idiot who doesn't know what to do at the right and wrong times, you get to see James sinking into Sirius like he's cotton. It looks frightfully natural and you see James wipe away the hair from Sirius's face like he loves him and all you can think is that you just saw Lily wheeling Harry away in his stroller to the store and yes James is in the house, go right ahead.

You can picture it in your head how it went. Sirius storming up to the house, fuming and angry and honest and James spluttering and maybe they both said 'please' at the same time and someone fumbled forward and someone was kissed and someone asked and someone gave and-

This is almost tremendously boring.

You make yourself a cup of weak tea and wait until they're finished. James pads into the kitchen and chokes when he sees you leaning nonchalantly against the counter. He says pitifully, "Please, Remus."

Your eyes narrow and you feel irritated, in the way that you haven't really felt since James and Lily got married and Sirius spent the entire time brooding and crying into your blazer and Peter kept asking where the two of you were constantly going off to.

You say, "You know I can't be held responsible for you, or the way he looks at you."

James flinches. "I know. But, please, Remus."

You break and snap and bend and shake and say, "Fuck it." and show yourself out.

* * *

It's summer and James and Sirius are still fucking each other and Lily still doesn't know and Peter still is a mindless idiot and everyone's still pleading with you, but you don't know what for. You're no one's savior. You're just a nineteen year old boy who likes to read the dusty tomes in the library and watches everyone.

Lily telephones you and asks about meeting up for a picnic. You think about unplugging the phone and when Sirius laughs and steals the phone away and says 'yes, Lils, of course!', you think about how you'd maybe like to castrate Sirius one day, and how you'd like to make him watch as you did it.

It's blue skies and everything you see seems green or yellow and healthy, even though Harry is fussing and Lily is kissing his forehead and James is kissing Lily and Peter is wishing he was drunk and Sirius is frowning and clutching your hand so hard you think he'll break it. You kiss Sirius's cheek and say blithely, "How nice, that we can all be here together. I'm so happy."

* * *

"I'm going to die," Sirius says feverishly that night, "and I will never, ever hold his hand."

You yawn. "Well, we're all going to die someday."

* * *

Right after Lily and James burn right into the smoke and Peter's nowhere to be found and you've finished crying a little, Sirius says, "I was right. Never did get to hand-holding."

He's got tears dripping off his nose and you press him into your coat because it's something you've been doing since you were young and silly and thought Sirius could get over it and love you and you thought you'd do anything to see him smile. You say, "Pity" and Sirius starts crying and saying that no one's ever going to love him and it's terribly, terribly selfish. You just feel lucky that you hardly ever get that sinking feeling in your stomach anymore when he says that.

"There's a man underground who will always love you." you say scathingly, and Sirius bends and breaks and snaps and all you can taste are teeth and blood and Sirius's cold, full mouth.

"Please." he says, and you let him curl into you again. You think that this will be the last time he does this and you look towards the smoldering house and the rain coming down to put out the last of the embers and all you can think is how heavy you wish you didn't feel.


End file.
